AUTHOR'S NOTES: So I wanted to get something out before my fanfic writing goes dark for a wee bit as I will be working on my own internet reviews. By the way, if anyone is willing to help me with video editing, that would be awesome.
I have finally seen the season 9 finale and… Okay. Metatron is very rapidly falling into the 'Umbridge' category of villains in that I have no idea how to write this asshole without including the words: "And then he was stabbed by some random angel. The end." So it may be a while before he actually appears.
Also, I do have a list of angels I will be featuring in this rewrite and if needed, I'll describe who they are and what their particular job is.
Castiel did his best to blend into the shadows of the boiler room of the abandoned warehouse where he was seeking… something. There had been some sort of angelic call sent out and it had drawn him to this location but all he'd found thus far was his dead brothers and sisters, the outlines of wings scorched into the ground.
Hearing something or someone behind him, Castiel swiftly turned around, raising his angel blade to defend himself as he did. But as he faced his would-be attacker, the blade fell from his hand and he backed away, not sure of what he was seeing.
"Well, that wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting," Balthazar said, glibly, as he retrieved the blade and handed it back.
"You're dead," Castiel stated, not sure if what he was seeing was real.
"I was," Balthazar corrected, sitting upon a stack of abandoned crates. "In fact, I was enjoying a very long encounter with Marilyn Monroe when Metatron did his bit of hocus pocus and the next thing I knew I was back here… sans powers, I might add."
Still completely confused, Castiel simply sheathed his blade and after a moment of quiet deliberation, he winged himself and Balthazar to the motel Cas had been staying in.
"I must say this is rather… grim," Balthazar observed as he went to the honor bar and withdrew a bottle of scotch whiskey. "I thought you'd be at the bunker with the Winchesters which, for the record, is a much nicer location than Mr. Singer's place. No disrespect to the dead."
Frowning at his compatriot and brother angel, Castiel wasn't sure whether or not to trust that this was really Balthazar. It seemed impossible and didn't make sense at all and while his brain was telling him not to trust his eyes, his gut and instincts told his otherwise. "Were all murdered angels cast out of Heaven?"
Shrugging as he sat down on the bed, Balthazar wasn't quite sure of how to explain. "Last I heard, the only angels—alive or dead—who are allowed back upstairs are the ones swearing complete loyalty to Metatron." Watching Castiel for a few moments, he wondered if it was a good idea to divulge the identities of the other angels who had been expelled. "Of course… you have your own followers, Cas."
Castiel looked up sharply at that news. "Excuse me?"
"Raguel, for one," Balthazar went on. "Also Sophia, Tabris, Camael… And lest I forget, Azrael and Dumah."
"I thought Azrael died in the fall," Castiel said, surprised by that. The Angel of Death was often considered to be in league with the Horseman, Death, even though the two often worked independently of one another. "How many more are there?"
Balthazar stood, smiling as he saw the look of determination on his brother's face. "A lot more."
Deep in the woods of Grandview Park, Anpiel stood, eyes closed, listening for the signal. Balthazar had assured her that Castiel would take up the role of captain of the army and once that happened, it would be his job to alert the other angels ready and willing to fight against Metatron and open the doors to Heaven once more.
While many of the angels wished to return home, there were some that had a different reason for going back to Heaven. With the doors locked, so to speak, anyone who had died—humans and angels alike—were caught in the veil, stuck between the living and the dead.
Not that Anpiel spent much time in Heaven anyway. He preferred staying out there in the forests with the birds he was created to protect. Still, he missed home and longed to go back.
Hearing a screech overhead, he looked up, seeing a hawk perch right above him. Smiling knowingly as the hawk took off, Anpiel followed the bird out of the woods before winging out to join the others.
"You want to run me through this one more time?" Dean said as he leaned against the table, arms crossed as he studied Gabriel intently.
Gabriel sighed, exasperated, as he obliged. "I didn't die in that hotel when Lucifer stabbed me. It was all a trick. And afterwards I hid out in the safest place I could think of—Heaven. I mean, come on! Who would have ever thought I was still alive?" Looking from Dean to Sam, he added, "Look, I get that you're not up for trusting anyone right now. But believe me—I am NOT on Metatron's side. Guy's a grade-A dick and nothing would make me happier than taking him down."
But as he glanced from one Winchester to the other, Gabriel felt increasingly nervous as he saw the look in Dean's eye. And having dealt with the Winchester's before, he instantly recognized it as Dean's trigger-happy, I'm-ready-to-kill-something-and tear-its-limbs-apart look. Closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh, he said, "Oh, God… what have you two knuckleheads done now?"
Out of reflex, Dean's left hand went to the Mark of Cain burned onto his right arm. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to hunt down Abbadon or, at the very least, tear through a couple dozen of her minions. His bloodlust was growing more and more these days and he couldn't fight back the urge to kill.
"Dean made a deal with Cain," Sam explained, simply, nodding towards his brother. "He took the Mark and—"
"Are you insane?" Gabriel blurted out in shock. Oh, sure, he'd expected the usual amount of Winchester stupidity but this was unbelievable. "You know, I seem to remember you talking to Castiel about not swallowing the souls in Purgatory because the power would overwhelm him. And now you've gone and done something even worse. You stupid, short-sighted moron—"
But whatever else the archangel was going to say was cut off as Dean lunged towards him in a blind rage. Sam held his brother back and nodded towards the nearest door. Gabriel got the message and opened a side door and jumped back quickly as Sam hauled his brother into the closet and slammed the door before locking it and bracing a chair under the knob.
"Sam, let me out of here or I swear to God I'm going to kill you next!" Dean shouted, his voice harsh with rage.
Sinking into another chair as Dean continued to scream, swear, pound the door, and promise bloody vengeance, Sam felt his heart clench as he saw what his brother had truly become. The worst part was that suddenly he heard his father's voice ringing in his ears. "Sammy, you've got to save your brother. Do whatever you have to. Even if that means killing him."
"Sam." Gabriel looked from the door to Sam and spoke the younger Winchester's name again. "Sam… We've got to stop this."
"We will," Sam swore, a determined look on his face as he stood. After all, now his brother's life depended on it.
God, was Metatron stupid, Azrael thought as she guarded the current entrance to Heaven. And she hated having to kiss up to this whiny, self-absorbed pissant scribe of God.
But she was patient. And after watching humanity for a few millennia she'd learned much, especially when her journeys led her across the path of the Horseman, Death. The two spoke often of their observations on the human race. In fact, Azrael prided herself on being the one to introduce Death to the wide variety of culinary treasures available in the world.
It was during one of these excursions to a church-turned-restaurant in Clarkston, Michigan after the fall of the angels that the angel and Horseman began to conspire to remove Metatron from the equation. After all, the former scribe now fancied himself as the new God and Death was more than capable of dealing with a snot-nosed angel who was too big for his britches.
Being a double agent was very tricky and proving her allegiance to Metatron had resulted in killing innocent angels and humans alike. But the sacrifices were not in vain and Azrael now had the compete trust of the so-called God.
Yes, let Metatron have his fun and play his games, Azrael thought, smiling as she picked up the latest news from Castiel's angel signals. It would all be over soon enough.